


(Don't) Leave

by bootlace



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Gen, Goodbyes, Memories, this is quite literally just for my dm but i suppose i will add some other tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29644566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootlace/pseuds/bootlace
Summary: This is really just for my DM but here's some backstory just in case anyone else reads it:Cello found out they weren't human on their nineteenth birthday. Now, weeks later, they look back on the family they left behind.
Relationships: Original Dungeons & Dragons Character(s) & Original Dungeons & Dragons Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	(Don't) Leave

**Author's Note:**

> greetings squido (and anyone else i guess) here is some cello lore  
> IF YOU ARE A PART OF MY D&D PARTY AND YOU AREN'T SQUIDO CALEB OR POLTEA DO NOT READ THIS

Cello didn’t dream often. Or at least, not in the way that most people dream. Most nights, they would fall asleep to music that no one else could hear, and they would wake up with the taste of a song on the tip of their tongue. Other times, they would be standing in front of a silhouette outlined in golden light that spoke to them of prophecies and destinies - and got mad at them for talking shit about her in front of their friends.

But this dream was not like all the others they often had. There was no music and no golden light. Instead, there was a grassy hill. A modest wooden house sat on top of it with a fence that was only half new surrounding it. A pile of fresh wood sat nearby, ready to be carved and hammered into the new fence, while another pile of old, rotting fence posts was next to it. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky peach and lilac. Smoke was curling up above the hill, coming from chimneys that were invisible from where Cello stood. They could feel their breath catch in their throat. They knew this place.

They knew this night.

Cello stared up at the house for a second longer before taking a deep breath and turning around. And sitting there, at the bank of the river that crept and crawled its ways through the hills, was themself. They slowly walked forward, stopping just behind the version of their own body that was in this world. Then, a voice called out from behind them.

“Cello!” Both of them turned around. The real Cello stared at the person running towards them with a sort of regret and grief that can only come from a goodbye that was never properly said. The Cello that was part of this dream - no, this  _ memory _ \- turned and grinned at the girl running towards them.

Their sister was just as they remembered her. Viola had the same thick dark hair that Cello did, though hers was longer and tied up in a bun. Both of their noses were the same as their father’s, curved and slightly hooked. That’s where the differences seemed to end. Cello had their mother’s eyes that were so dark brown they could be mistaken for black. Viola’s were a mirror of their father’s and they were so blue they looked like two pieces of the sky had come down from the heavens just to exist in her eyes.

Cello hadn’t seen those eyes in weeks.

They suddenly felt a harsh  _ jolt _ as their memory counterpart stood up and walked straight through them to reach their sister. Cello took a harsh breath in and stabilized themself before sprinting to catch up to where the other Cello and Viola had begun walking up the hill toward the house. Just as the two of them got there (with a spectator in tow), the door swung open and there was Lin.

Lin looked like her twin in almost every way. She shared the blue eyes of her sister and the nose that had seeped it’s way into all of their genetics. The only real difference was her hair, which seemed to shine like amber in the setting sun. She had her hair down, the ends of it tickling her chin as she swung the door open.

Cello - the real Cello - could’ve cried. They hadn’t been a day without seeing their sisters since the two of them were born and now this was the first time they were seeing them in weeks and it wasn’t even  _ real _ . They watched as all three siblings stepped inside the house for dinner. There was a second before the door closed, a perfect opportunity to slip inside and see the rest of their house, see their  _ parents _ -

Cello stayed outside.

Cello stayed outside and they waited, for hours and hours, until the sun had long since set and the moon had crawled high up into the sky. Finally, the door opened back up, and there stood their reflection once again. They had a backpack over their shoulder and their most sturdy skirt for travel covering their legs. They were wearing the same cloak that the real Cello did now; a cloak of a deep blue that almost seemed to match the very night sky that they now stood under, golden buttons keeping it latched with small chains hanging between them, and two swirls looping across the fabric.

Viola and Lin had given them the cloak for their nineteenth birthday. The same night they found out almost everything they had been told about themself was a lie. And now, three weeks later, they were standing on the front step of their house, knowing that they were leaving everything behind, but having no other choice.

For the first time, the real Cello spoke.

“Please, go back,” they pleaded. They knew that this memory couldn’t hear them but they tried anyway. “I know you can’t stay but  _ please _ , tell them goodbye. Leave them all with more than just a note that explains nothing!”

The memory didn’t respond. They were already starting to close the door behind them. The real Cello grew more desperate.

“ _ You can’t leave them like this! _ ” In a flash of panic they reached out and tried to latch onto their own arm, but their hands fell straight through.

And then Cello woke up. They lay there, breathing as quietly as they could. They could still hear themself begging to go back. They’re not sure why they even tried.

After all, the past can’t be changed.


End file.
